A Thousand Dreams
by SlightlyFrumiousBandersnatch
Summary: "I am a seer, even in my madness. I see other worlds, things that never were. They all start with one little change…" 60-plus  AUs in 3200 words, plus companion oneshots. Multiple ships, character death, fluff, lots of implications but nothing explicit
1. A Thousand Dreams

**Disclaimer: I don't own the BBC's _Merlin_. I'm not trying to profit from it.**

**This is Day 24 of my fic-a-day New Year's Project. ****Major thanks to my beta, Cajast, who pointed out plot holes and straightened out the kinks in my punctuation.**

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><p>These visions are driving me mad, Merlin. I see so many things, so many contradictory things. They never stop. Sometimes, I can't tell which is the reality and which are the dreams. I can't remember who I (the <em>real<em> I) am supposed to hate and who I'm supposed to love. Is the real world the one where you poisoned me, or the one where I bore you children? Do I know how Gwen looks in death because I killed her, or simply because I have dreamed it so many times?

I'm an old woman. Maybe I'm losing my grip, alone in my cave.

I see them all the time, Merlin. It's not just dreams anymore. I sit at my little table and reach for a cup, and I see a thousand goblets and chalices and skins.

Some of them are in your hand, Merlin. No, don't flinch. Not all are poison.

I am a seer, even in my madness. I see other worlds, things that never were. Some are ugly, some are torturous, and even the sweetest merely tantalize. They all start with one little change…

Sometimes, I see a world where Uther never resorted to magic to get a son, never became the man that I hated. Ygraine loved me as the child that she could never bear. Because she lived, the Great Purge never came to pass. Balinor lived out his days in peace, and you were never conceived. My father acknowledged me on his deathbed, and I mourned him with all my heart and was a good queen in honor of his memory. That's not such a horrible vision, is it? You aren't in it, and neither is Arthur, but at least it's peaceful.

There's a dream where you died before you were ever Arthur's servant. It wasn't really my fault. I turned and looked over the screen and saw a boy with wide blue eyes watching me dress. I screamed, and the guards came running. I think you panicked; you should have known better than to fight them with magic. They caught you, and Gaius wrote your mother the hardest letter of his life. Arthur died at Mary Collins' knife, and Uther's mind burned on Arthur's pyre. I was queen at one and twenty years old, and magic was legal for a time, until the war came. I didn't know how to fight, and Cenred conquered us. That dream is not so peaceful.

There's a world where Arthur died in a tilting accident before you ever reached Camelot, and you became _my _advisor instead. You kept me sane with kind words and honest counsel, and you were the truest servant a monarch could wish for. They called you "the Queen's Shadow." In that dream, you poured your entire life into my service. I think you loved me, but you never let me see it.

In one dream, Uther resisted the urge to betray his friend, and I was never born. Uther ruled for long years, and the courtyard of Camelot was charred by thousands of bonfires. By the time you finally persuaded Arthur to legalize magic, the Old Religion was nearly dead. You took what Gaius had taught you and became a teacher of sorts. You gave the rest of your life to restoring what knowledge of the craft you could.

There's a dream where you married Gwen. You stole a kiss, almost by accident, from a smitten girl and suddenly found that there was no truer heart in all the world. Sweet Gwen. You trusted her with your secret, and she helped you to trust me. Arthur married Elena and was happier than he ever expected. They had respect, and trust, and deep, deep friendship. Their children were blond as summer, happy as larks, and outspoken as their parents. I like that dream.

There's a dream where you couldn't stop the Afanc in time, and they burned Gwen in the town square. You never forgave Arthur for allowing it. When Mordred was caught, you refused to enlist Arthur's assistance and tried to free him yourself. They captured you both, of course. You broke out of the cells, stunning the guards, and went on the run. Uther died in battle with the Black Knight, and Arthur met the same fate the following day.

In one of the dreams, you took Mordred to your mother, and she raised him as a second son, nearly as great a man as the first. The Druids crowned him, a king to speak to Arthur as an equal; unprecedented, but perhaps necessary. They understood each other, those two, and they forged a peace which included my initiation in the Old Religion. They made me the bridge between two worlds, a Pendragon and a priestess both in one, and I helped to create a new order.

In another, you let Mordred die, and the shame destroyed you.

In one, I let Tauren kill Uther. You hid the truth, for my sake and because the damage was already done, but Arthur blamed it on magic. The Second Great Purge was as terrible as the first.

In one dark, dark dream, Sigan's soul possessed you and poured out vengeance on Camelot. The city burned, but a misfired spell broke the Great Dragon's chain and freed him to stop the slaughter. It was too late to save the royal family.

There's a world where Morgause had a different forfeit in mind for Arthur. He asked her, first with pride, and finally with pleading, to reconsider, but he kept his word like the honorable man that he was. She poisoned a part of his heart with her touch, and the mockery in her eyes when she saw him at his most helpless haunted him. The child that she bore broke his kingdom.

There's a world where you let Arthur kill his father, spill his king's blood on the stones of his council chamber. Although magic was legalized, the Camelot he ruled was a dark place.

There's a world where Arthur got me with child before we learned the truth of my parentage. He vomited when Uther told him what we'd done, and he never looked me in the eyes again. Our baby was a beautiful little girl with curls like sunshine and my green eyes. Sir Leon married me out of pity, and to give protection and a name to his prince's child. In the end, my daughter's eyes called me back out of madness.

There are a hundred dreams where you told me the truth, gave in and whispered "I have magic, too." In many, it saved my soul. There's one where it broke me, and dozens and dozens where I used it to break you and Camelot. Sometimes, it made me your friend, and, other times, your darkest enemy. Sometimes, it made me love you.

Do you know, Merlin, that in many of those worlds we were wed? Despite everything, it happened over and over again. We saved the world side by side, or we held each other when we could not stop its burning, or we destroyed it hand in hand because I made you love me more than Arthur. You were a good husband, tender and true, and, no matter what happened, you always brought me flowers.

There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, stole your innocence, and vanished from Camelot without a trace. In that world, I raised our daughter as a weapon and you were forced to destroy us both. When it was over, you went to the Isle of the Blessed and walked beyond the veil, leaving the world of the living behind.

There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, took you to bed, and slit your throat as you lay sated beside me. I bore our daughter in exile and raised her as an enemy of Camelot. They had no sorcerer to stand against her magic and her hatred.

There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, and you held me like your wildest dream had come true. Your touch was so artless and sincere that I couldn't bear to betray you. I wavered between light and dark, love and hatred, for years. In the end, I let you heal me.

There's a dream where you came to me and asked me to help protect Freya. I sat with her for an evening, soothing, and she fell asleep on my shoulder. She slept too long; her transformation was as quick and sudden as my death. Uther took to his chambers, mourning, and never came out again. Gaius finally broke Freya's curse, working for weeks because I'd begged him for help on the morning of my final day on earth. In that world, she named your firstborn Morgana, and you held her as she wept for me.

There's a world where you killed Uther, and Arthur burned you in the city square as a warning to sorcerers. There's another where it's me, I burned, and still another where our fingers were intertwined on the hilt of the knife. In that one, I killed Arthur to save your life, and you never forgave me.

There's a world where Arthur was crippled by a stray arrow, and I became his right hand and the leader of his armies, the Lady Morgana on her white steed with blood on her sword. He married Gwen, but the people meant me when they spoke of the Queen. You and I were lovers, of course, but we never married. Too much of me belonged to my king. It hurt you more than you admitted to know that Arthur and I were two sides of the same coin, closer than twins, almost the same person, and you only warmed my bed and did his magic.

In one world, you told Arthur your secret too early. He banished you. You took shelter in Gwen's house and snuck back into the castle to save his life. The guards had orders to shoot on sight, and you knew it, but, of course, you didn't care. The guards told me that your last word was "Arthur."

I see a dream where Gaius died under Aredian's hands. Arthur was horrified, and he decided once and for all that his father was wrong about magic. You told him your secret, and he swore to you in honor of Gaius that Camelot would one day be safe for magic. When Morgause used me to lay sleep on Camelot, he made her the same promise, and offered his help in saving innocent magic users. Uther lived for another decade, but, somehow, the dungeons were never quite as secure after that, and the bonfires grew more and more uncommon. When Arthur became king, they stopped altogether.

I see a world where you tricked Morgause and told her it was aconite, not hemlock, and I died. You defeated Morgause, and Arthur reigned for decades in peace, but you never forgave yourself.

There's a world where you refused to kill me, and Arthur died in the silence of a sleeping castle.

There's a dream where you claimed Kilgarrah's life, for Camelot and because he made you kill me. When Morgause trapped you and took her vengeance, there was no dragon to answer your call.

There's a world where Balinor reached Camelot alive and dismissed Kilgarrah. You were so proud to be his son that you nearly wept, although you couldn't tell Arthur why. Your father asked you to return to Ealdor with him, reclaim the years that you could have had. You smiled through your tears and refused. He smiled, embraced you, and didn't try to argue, because he saw that you and Arthur were a partnership with the power to change everything. He saw correctly, and you did.

There's a dream where a pair of misplaced love potions tipped you into Arthur's bed. You were both so shocked the next morning that the signs of sorcery went completely unnoticed. In that dream, you lost an arm to the rogue sorcerer who'd done it, and you both drank only from hip flasks for the rest of your lives.

In another variation, he banished Gwen, and you offered to help him drown his sorrows. "Comfort" got a little out of hand. He woke the next day and was revolted. You pretended that it didn't matter. When Gwen returned and they were married, your heart broke a little. Only a little, though, because he was happy, and you were his most faithful servant, and that was so much more than enough.

In one world, you rejected your magic, left Camelot, and became a painter. You made a very bad painter, Merlin, and you couldn't stay away when Arthur came in person and begged you to come back. I think that life was otherwise the same as reality, except that Arthur mocked you for it until the end of your days.

There's a dream where a subtle poison claimed your mind, one drop at a time, and I laughed to see you taste nightmares as dark as the ones that had frightened me.

There's one where I caught and bound you, intending to steal your mind and make you kill for me. Instead, you needled me with cruel words until I lost my temper and killed you as you hung helpless.

There's a dream where Arthur never took Gwen back. He married Mithian instead, and she was a good queen. She gave him good counsel, and five daughters who wrapped his tender heart around their fingers as their mother could not. In that world, he was happy. Gwen lived in Ealdor until the end of her days, forging horseshoes and trying to forget.

There's a dream where I never tore the veil. Lancelot lived, and he and Gwen remained friends. It only took a little of my magic to tease Arthur into unfounded jealousy and harshness. He stopped himself from striking her, but neither of them ever forgot the way she shrank away when he raised his hand. It planted the seeds that decades later led to scandal and destruction.

There's a world where Gwen was barren and our son, the king's nephew, took the throne as the first sorcerer-king of Camelot. Handsome, dark-haired Arthur was named for his uncle, and he became a mighty ruler, king and dragonlord and warrior. He was born with your heart and my cunning, your magic and my visions, and he had his namesake's leadership and skill with a blade. In his empire, the golden dragon was a proud ally, not a conquered foe.

There's a world that turned out more pleasant than you'd expect. It's one where Arthur got a child on Gwen while his father was still living. Uther refused to let him marry her, of course, and Arthur would not let his child be born without his name. They ran away together. You turned to me for companionship, and we clung to each other as Uther's tyranny grew worse. When he died, we asked Arthur to come back, to reclaim his throne. He refused. You were heartbroken, and I made you my consort in an effort to shock him into coming back. It didn't work, of course (though I woke laughing from a dream of his face when he heard the news). He became a country landowner, running a farm of sorts, and he was better at it than any of us would have believed possible. Albion was never united, but Camelot survived tolerably enough.

There's a dream where you came to my hovel, bound me to a chair, and bound us both with a spell of honesty. We talked for long days. There was pain, and cruelty, and you begged for my pardon, and, in the end, I agreed to speak to Arthur. He wept into my hair and called me his sister, and we found that we were both sick of war. I promised him that I would stay away from Camelot for five years if he would reconsider his position on magic. I kept my promises, and he kept his. When the time came, he greeted me as "Sorceress Royal" and laughed at the look on my face.

There's a dream where he died in your arms on a battlefield. He called you "little brother" with his last breath, and you hunted me down to seek revenge. After you killed me, you reclaimed your humanity by caring for his wife and children as if they were your own.

There are dozens of dreams where some monster ended your life, or some sorcerer defeated you. So many dangers you could have failed to dodge, Emrys, and I see them all.

There are dozens where Arthur caught you. In some, he burned you, and it broke his heart. In others, he banished you, and you stubbornly returned to save him, over and over until he took you in again. In many, Guinevere looked him in the eyes and refused to let him harm you, and he listened. In one, he already knew, and you looked at him in goggle-eyed wonder when he laughed.

There are so, so many dreams where you died for your king, Merlin. You threw yourself into danger's path, or went to the Isle of the Blessed and traded your breath for his, or bore torture without breaking for the sake of his safety. There is not one dream where you thought twice.

There's a dream where you admired me but never trusted me with your secret. In that world, Arthur married Gwen after a long courtship and a few false starts. Your father died and I killed mine, and you tried so many times to die for Arthur but never quite managed it. In the end, you came to the cave where I sat in an empty room, mad and dreaming. You planned to kill me. I don't remember how it ended. Most of the time, that is the one that I call reality.

_Are_ you here to kill me, Merlin?

There are many, many dreams where you killed me. There was poison, and magic, and a sword, and cruel words to drive me mad, and, once, a cliff and a long, long fall. In some you smiled in bitter delight, and in many you wept, and in some you were expressionless as you took my life. Usually, you begged for my forgiveness, though I very seldom gave it. I know how you look when you kill in self-defense, and how grim you are as an executioner.

It will be interesting to see it in reality, my Emrys, my destiny, my doom. Have my dreams told me true? Will your hands tremble when you take my life?

You are very silent. Are you here at all, or are you yet another dream? Merlin? Speak to me, tell me you're really here. Tell me. I can't remember whether I'm supposed to love you or hate you, but it would be a comfort if you were here.

Why are you weeping?

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><p><strong>So...do you have a favorite alternate world? Nearly all of these AUs spring from a sort of half-formed oneshotdrabble bunny in my head. If you want more detail on one of them, drop me a review and it may appear as a later chapter on this story.**

**If you're curious about my New Year's Project, check my profile for the other pieces, details on fandoms, etc.**


	2. His Right Hand

**This is Day 26 of my New Year's ficathon.**

**Also: I should really send a friendly shoutout to Magical Moo, who's been leaving encouraging anonymous reviews on my work for most of this month. I can't send you a review reply, Moo, but please know that I've been reading and appreciating.**

**Thanks also to the anonymous reviewer Estelle, who requested this piece.**

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><p><strong><em>There's a world where Arthur was crippled by a stray arrow, and I became his right hand and the leader of his armies, the Lady Morgana on her white steed with blood on her sword. He married Gwen, but the people meant me when they spoke of the Queen. You and I were lovers, of course, but we never married. Too much of me belonged to my king. It hurt you more than you admitted to know that Arthur and I were two sides of the same coin, closer than twins, almost the same person, and you only warmed my bed and did his magic.<em>**

The bandits didn't know what they were attacking until it was too late. There were no banners flying, and the seal of Camelot wasn't on display. They'd been on a diplomatic mission, a covert one, and the royal party was travelling swiftly homeward, with only a light guard.

It was enough to destroy the bandits entirely. It wasn't enough to save the king.

They brought Arthur back unconscious, holding him steady on a litter so as not to dislodge the arrow. Thank God that Leon was battle-tested enough to know that removing a shaft in the field isn't worth the risk, not with the Court Physician half-a-day's ride away.

"He tried to step in front of a shot meant for the king," Leon told me. "It was very brave."

"Or very foolish," I said, and turned away to hide my face.

I sat outside Gaius's surgery all evening and into the night, watching Merlin (Arthur's devoted manservant for the past six months) come and go with pails of hot water, bundles of herbs, and towels soaked with blood. He spared me a glance each time, and a grim smile.

"He's still breathing, milady."

"Gaius is going to remove the arrow."

"We've bound the wound, but he's still bleeding."

At midnight, he came and laid a hand on my shoulder.

"He's sleeping soundly, milady. Gaius says that he'll live."

I stood up, shaking, and nearly crumpled back into my seat. He caught me, tentatively, as if he was afraid that I might bite. I was exhausted, and my heart felt as though it had been wrung out like a dishrag, and I found that I didn't much care about propriety. I clung to his shoulder, though whether for balance or comfort I couldn't have said.

"Would you…would you like to see him?"

I nodded. He led me through into the physician's quarters.

Arthur lay as though dead, his right arm bound across his chest, pale beneath his tan.

"I know it looks bad," Merlin said softly, "But he'll live. I promise."

"He'd better," I said sharply, "He's the king now."

O

Arthur sent for me as soon as he awoke, two days later. I'd been in the throne room, handling what civil cases I could, trying to reassure the people as to their king's condition. Merlin slipped sideways into the room and approached my seat.

"He's awake, milady. He wants to see you." I finished out the case I was hearing, scarcely comprehending a word, and then rushed after Merlin.

He was sitting up in bed, more regal with no shirt and one arm in a sling than most men can manage in full royal robes. There was grief in his eyes, but his voice was steady.

"Morgana," he said, "They tell me that you've kept Camelot running. I'm grateful."

"There was no one else to do it."

He smiled at me, but I thought that there was something odd in the smile.

"Sire?"

"Close the door, Merlin," he said. "You can stay, but make sure no one else enters."

I raised an eyebrow at him as he slipped by. He shrugged, as confused as I was.

"Did they…did they tell you that I was beside my father as he died?"

"They did." _They told me that you threw yourself in front of him_.

"No one else was close enough to hear his final words." He swallowed. "But I heard. I'll tell the court, later, but you need to hear this first."

There was a long moment of silence. I waited, unsure what to expect.

"He said, 'She's your sister. Take care of each other.'"

"I—"

"Gaius is checking the records," he went on, not waiting for my response. "I think we'll find that my father visited Cornwall twenty-two years ago."

I stood in silence, trying to absorb this. I'd thought myself an orphan for the past eleven years, after all.

"You're my brother?"

"I'm afraid so." He smirked. "Half-brother, if you prefer." I tried to smile, finding it easier than I expected.

"'Brother' is simpler, I think."

"'Brother' it is, then…sister."

O

"There's still no feeling in this arm," Arthur remarked thoughtfully, "Gaius says that that may mean that the arrow severed a nerve. If so, I'll never get the use of the arm again."

I had no words for that. It was his right arm, his sword-arm.

"I'll never lead a battle again. I can't fight, and I won't command where I cannot lead."

"Arthur…"

"Don't fuss, Morgana."

"I'm _not_ fussing," I said, which was quite true, though perhaps only because he cut me off so soon.

"War is coming. I'll have to find a general. Leon, perhaps."

"Leon is no commander." True enough; Leon was a good man, an excellent second-in-command, but not the sort to lead a charge.

"Someone else, then. Someone with a head for strategy."

"How many kings have lost their thrones in just such a fashion?" Too many, and he knew it. There is nothing in the world more dangerous to a monarch than to allow a general to be strong where he is weak.

"What other option do I have, Morgana?" I swallowed before I gave him my answer. He might be angry…worse yet, he might laugh.

"There's me."

"You?" He wasn't laughing, at least. He sounded more…thoughtful.

"I can fight well enough, if I'm mounted. I'm of the royal family. And I pose no risk to your throne."

"Don't you?" There was a trace of teasing in his tone. Now that he knew me for his sister, not an interloper or a guest or someone he might be forced to marry, there was a sort of camaraderie between us. We were the only family we had left.

"Your—_our _father's last words were 'take care of each other.' I can be useful, Arthur. Besides, if I wanted your crown, I would have taken it by now." I smirked, just a little, teasing back, trying to take the exhaustion out of his face. He laughed for the first time since the day he'd awakened as king.

"All right. We'll try it. Start training tomorrow. Let the knights see that you're willing to work hard, and they might just accept you."

O

The neighboring kingdoms came swarming around within the season, of course; Camelot made a tempting mouthful with her young, inexperienced, crippled king.

Cenred moved first, sending an army across our border. I went to war. They wrote songs, afterwards, about the way I looked as I rode to battle: the Lady Morgana on her white horse, clothed in silver armor, with hair dark as night falling down her back and…well, there was a great deal more. Arthur chuckled, but he seated me to his right at the victory banquet and offered a toast to "my royal sister, the Lady Morgana, my strong right arm."

I was very young, and I was drunk on wine, victory, and blood. Merlin was warm, and sweet, and admiring. I claimed to be too unsteady to return to my chambers without support. Arthur raised an eyebrow at my demand for Merlin's assistance, but he let it stand.

It was so, so simple. He'd been half in love with me when he first met me, and I was very lovely, and I wouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer, anyway.

He became a regular fixture in my chambers. He brought me flowers, and he said that he loved me, and I suppose that I loved him, too.

When war came again, though, I rode away without a second thought.

O

I was his best advisor, his most loyal servant, his sword-arm, the one person he trusted above all others. When, six months later, I realized that I had magic, he legalized it without hesitation. I was the only family he had, after all, and he was a king in his own right, not his father's shadow. Besides, his suffering had taught him wisdom and compassion.

"Nonsense," he said, "If you have magic, then magic can't be evil. I'll get Merlin to write up a proclamation this afternoon."

O

He and Gwen were beautiful together, sweet and tender. She was perhaps the only woman in Albion who could treat his crippled arm and his crown as equally inconsequential.

"Marry for love and be happy," I told him, and he did.

I never married. Arthur wasn't able or willing to marry me off outside Camelot; he needed me beside him too much, as his friend, his advisor, and a servant of the crown. Merlin was too proud to ask, since I was the king's sister and he had no title or station which he hadn't received from my hands. I could have made him the offer, but I was the Lady Morgana, the king's champion. I would do nothing to compromise my usefulness to Arthur, and that meant that I had to be seen as something separate, something unlike other women. My men saw me as a force of nature, belonging to no man. I was their leader, a princess and a sorceress and a symbol, all in one. To be a wife, even to a man as unconventional as Merlin, would have made me merely a woman. To bear the children I knew he wanted, still more so.

He never complained, never sighed, and he greeted me with a smile at every homecoming. If it bothered him that my last words to him each time I left Camelot were "Take care of Arthur," he never let it show. He loved us both, his king and his lover, with all the warmth and purity in his heart. He was happy enough, I think.

I would have died for Merlin, had the circumstances demanded it. I would have given up my life for him without a second thought, and he knew it, but I lived for Arthur and for Camelot.

O

Arthur and Gwen named their firstborn "Morgana." She was sweet, and innocent, and very unlike me, but I loved her dearly anyway.

O

My hair grew streaked with silver, but I stayed slim, almost ageless, and still beautiful. The poets wrote songs about King Arthur, the wise king with the crippled body and the vast, valiant heart, and his sister, the Lady Morgana, goddess of battle.

He was my brother, and my truest friend, and my king. When he died, I took his body to the Isle of the Blessed and laid him in a tomb of crystal. I had dreamed that he would one day return.

When he does, I'll be waiting, ready to serve my king once again.

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><p><strong>What say you? Approval? Is there another vision from the original you'd like to see? Only five more days remain on this ficathon. :)<strong>


	3. He Woke the Next Day

**I know this wasn't anyone's request; it haunted me and demanded to be written, and it's all I have ready to go for day 28. **

**If you aren't keen on slash, be aware that what follows is exactly 200 words of non-explicit, accidental, onesided, deeply unhappy Merthur, and that it will almost certainly be the only M/M in this collection.**

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><p><strong><em>In another variation, he banished Gwen, and you offered to help him drown his sorrows. "Comfort" got a little out of hand. He woke the next day and was revolted. You pretended that it didn't matter. When Gwen returned and they were married, your heart broke a little. Only a little, though, because he was happy, and you were his most faithful servant, and that was so much more than enough.<em>**

**_._**

Sleep, Arthur. In the morning, you'll forget.

You'll forget, because it's easier to blame the whole thing on the wine you'd both had, and your broken heart. You'll blame yourself, your desire to forget, your desperate craving for comfort. You'll call it a shameful abuse of his friendship and his compassion. You'll _apologize_.

You'll forget because it makes it all easier if you can believe that he permitted it out of pity. Because you were heartbroken, and desolate, and can't really be blamed, but Merlin…

And you _know_ Merlin, don't you? You know that he liked Morgana, long ago. Once, you were standing watch and heard him crying in his sleep for "Freya." (He went stony-faced when you teased him about it.) You've seen him watching women like any man does, even if he won't join in when the knights speculate and boast.

You'll push the thought down. You'll forget the look in his eyes when you reached for him, because it's the only way you can live with what you did. You'll forget what you heard.

You'll forget that, when you wept and whispered "Gwen" into the darkness like a prayer, the only name on his lips was yours.


	4. A Second Great Man

**Rivergift and Hillevi wanted to see this one. I hope they enjoy. :)**

**This is Day 30 of my New Year's ficathon, and my last _Merlin_ update during this challenge. Many, many thanks to those Merlinians who have stuck with me, reviewed, and followed along during this month. You've been fantastic.**

**ETA: I posted this last night and thought it had gone up. Discovered today that something malfunctioned. Sorry for the confusion.**

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><p><em><strong>In one of the dreams, you took Mordred to your mother, and she raised him as a second son, nearly as great a man as the first. The Druids crowned him, a king to speak to Arthur as an equal; unprecedented, but perhaps necessary. They understood each other, those two, and they forged a peace which included my initiation in the Old Religion. They made me the bridge between two worlds, a Pendragon and a priestess both in one, and I helped to create a new order.<strong>_

"The druids are in hiding, Merlin. I don't know where to find them." Arthur crosses his arms.

"Well, he can't stay _here_. It's too dangerous."

"Where am I going to find someone willing to raise a child whose _existence_ is _illegal_? Who on _earth_ would voluntarily take a risk like that?"

"Someone who lives a long way from Camelot?"_ Better yet… someone who's done it before._ Merlin smiles a little at the thought. _If she can handle _me_, she can handle him._

"If I know someone who will do it, will you swear not to ask me who they are?" he asks hesitantly. _I can't risk him knowing, for her sake. And for mine._ Arthur frowns, then nods slowly.

"Can they be trusted?"

"Yes." He tries to sound so certain that Arthur won't ask why. Maybe he's successful; maybe it's just that Arthur understands the need for secrecy.

"Then take him to them. I'll say that I've given you time to visit family."

Merlin ducks his head to hide his grin. _You won't even be lying, Arthur._

O

They smuggle him out of the castle in the hours before dawn. Merlin borrows a cloak and sets Mordred in front of him as they ride. It should be enough that no one will get a clear look at his face.

"They're gone?" Morgana asks when Arthur returns.

"They're gone," he confirms. "I don't know how long a ride it is. Merlin says it's better if I don't know."

Morgana smiles.

"You did the right thing, Arthur."

"Was that a _compliment_, Morgana?" He stares at her, eyebrows raised in mock amazement.

"What?" she asks. "You do the right thing so seldom that, when you do, it merits recognition." She meant it as a joke, but she can see him turning serious.

"Maybe you're right." He sighs. "It's not the first time that my father has ordered the death of children. When I'm king… well."

"Yes?"

"Things may be different."

"_May_ be?"

"_Will _be different."

"I'll hold you to that," she says, and means it. He said it as a promise, and she knows that, idiot though he may sometimes be, he keeps his word. Someday, things _will_ be different.

O

_Where are we going, Emrys? Am I returning to my people?_

_You're going to stay with someone who'll take care of you, someone who'll keep you safe. Someone who's going to love you, if I know her at all._

_Who is it?_

O

"Call me Hunith." She smiles warmly down at him. "It's been too long since there were children in my house. Merlin's been none too quick to give me grandchildren."

"_Mother_."

"What, dear?"

Mordred's face is impassive, but Merlin feels a trace of laughter inside his head.

"C'mon," he says, rolling his eyes, "We'll make up my old bed for you."

O

They think he's asleep on his pallet by the wall. Really, he's lying awake, listening. He's never met anyone quite like them before. Emrys had no reason to save him, and the kind lady has no reason to take him in, and yet neither of them hesitated even a little bit.

"He has magic, but I don't know how much," Emrys says in a low voice, "The man who brought him to Camelot—I don't know if it was his father or not—Uther had him executed."

Hunith's eyes go wide. Mordred can see it in the firelight. Her eyes glisten with what might be tears.

"Poor little thing," she says softly.

"You don't mind my bringing him, do you? I know it's a risk."

"You did right, love. He'll be safe with me, I'll see to that."

"Arthur will keep listening for word of the druids. If they return to Camelot, he'll try and get a message to them."

"No hurry. It'll be good to have a boy under my roof again. My little son grew up too fast."

"If you look after him half as well as you did me, he'll never want to leave."

"If he makes half as good a man as you're starting to, I'll be proud to keep him forever."

Even in the firelight, Mordred can see Emrys blushing.

O

He doesn't speak at all the first fortnight that he's there, but she doesn't seem to mind. She feeds him until he can't eat any more, makes sure that he's comfortable, and stays nearby. She's a warm, comforting, quiet presence, and he's grateful.

O

Hunith is different from anyone he's ever met. Even his own people were impressed by his magic, a bit frightened when he couldn't control it. She's sometimes scared, but it's not _of_ him, it's _for_ him.

"Merlin used to do that," she tells him when he moves things in his sleep. "He grew out of it in the end, though."

"Oh, Merlin did just the same, but even _worse_," she tells him another time, cutting off his attempt at an apology. He'd been terrified that she'll send him away, but she doesn't seem fazed. "Once, he managed to do Dern's whole flock at the same time. Not to worry, my love."

The way she strokes his hair in passing, absent-mindedly, reminds him of the mother he can barely remember.

The stern look she gives him when she catches him misusing his magic hurts almost more than he can bear.

The furious scolding she gives the village boys the one time they tease him makes up for every last bit of it.

O

Four years later, his people come to reclaim him. She cries and kisses his brow.

"Goodbye, Mordred," she says, stepping back and smoothing his hair, "It's meant more than I can say to have you here."

He can't find words for everything he wants to tell her.

"Take care of yourself, love," she says, "Be a good man, and make me proud of _both_ my sons."

_My sons. _He straightens his shoulders.

"I promise... Mother."

O

He appears at the gates of Camelot with no entourage and no name. It ought to be funny; he's a teenager, perhaps sixteen years old, with a crown around his brow, and he calls himself the king of the druids.

"Do the druids even _have_ a king?" the guard at the gate asks.

"It takes a king to make a treaty," the young man says. "Take me to yours, please."

It ought to be funny, but it isn't. He's only half-grown, though well-formed, and there's no trace of a beard on his cheeks, but his eyes are a king's eyes. The guards show him to the throne room, not daring to stand too close.

He addresses the High King as an equal.

"It has been long, long years since my people had a voice, Arthur Pendragon." The stranger's voice is a light, clear tenor. "We hope to change that. The druids have chosen me; I speak for all who follow the Old Religion. We would have peace."

"Peace?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow.

The younger man's eyes are tranquil. He makes no response. Arthur looks him up and down, appraising.

"What makes you think that I will make a deal with a sorcerer?"

"You showed compassion, once. Long ago, there was a boy, just a child. Uther would have killed him. You saved his life."

Two pairs of blue eyes lock together. One pair goes wide.

"Mordred?"

"It has been a long time, Arthur Pendragon."

O

The two kings make an odd contrast as they lean on the parapet, staring across Camelot's fields and forests. Golden-haired, muscular Arthur is a man in the prime of his strength, a swordsman and leader of armies. Mordred is dark and slight, young and unattended and apparently weaponless.

In a way, though, they're very much alike. Both know what power is. Both are familiar with loss. Both want the best for their people. They understand each other.

"There have been fewer executions since you took the throne," Mordred observes. "None at all of children. Very few of innocents. Always beheadings, not burnings."

Arthur shrugs.

"Not all magic is evil. It has saved my life and my kingdom many times. Those who use magic against the crown are punished. Those who don't…"

"And yet _all _magic is banned."

"It pacifies my father's former advisors."

"Is that right? To let a law stand, knowing it to be wrong?"

Arthur is expressionless.

"No. But the people grow less afraid of magic, more willing to accept it, with every year that I wait." He hesitates a moment. "There _are_ those who say that I've waited too long."

"Emrys and Morgana." It's not a question. Arthur nods.

"They understand my reasons. They don't agree, but they understand. Though…" Arthur's smile is just a trifle smug. "I think that they'll have to admit that I was right, now. The perfect moment came after all."

"Oh?"

"You. My people won't accept magic _as_ magic. But magic with a man's voice? Maybe."

"No. Not a man."

"You may be young, Mordred, but there's no need for false modesty." Something moves in Mordred's eyes. In a less solemn man, it would be a smile.

"You misunderstand me, Arthur. Your people would not accept _me_. I'm a stranger, and I don't inspire confidence." He smiles wryly. "_I _am not a reassuring person. The Lady Morgana, however…" Arthur looks at him sharply.

"What are you suggesting?"

"She is a Pendragon, but she is also a sorceress of no small talent."

"True."

"Then let the people know. As part of the treaty, let her declare herself. Their beautiful, generous princess; make _her_ the face of magic, let her use it to help them, and they'll accept it."

Arthur nods slowly.

"Maybe. And she'll do it, I know she will."

"So much for your people. To reassure _mine_, we will need another strategy."

"Maybe." Arthur smiles a little. "Maybe not, though."

O

"A sort of exchange," Arthur says, "Merlin becomes my official advisor, and Morgana is initiated as a priestess."

"Emrys becomes the druids' voice in Camelot, and a Pendragon takes a position of power in the Old Religion," Morgana says, nodding in admiration.

"You both take your rightful places," Arthur says. "Openly. You get the gratitude you deserve. No more secrets."

"No more lies," Merlin replies, though his voice is so thick with emotion that it's a wonder he can even manage that much.

Morgana puts a hand on his forearm to steady him.

"Merlin and I have waited and worked a long, long time for this," she tells Mordred softly. "He's protected the king and saved this kingdom more times than you can count. And it was a crime, every single time. I think we sometimes wondered whether this day would ever come at all."

Mordred smiles, and for a moment he's just a boy, delighted to see his friends happy.

"And now it has."

O

"They want _peace?"_

The council meeting is going badly. Agravaine in particular is causing problems, but none of the old guard is at all accepting of the idea. The people may be largely apathetic on the subject of magic, but these men were Uther's closest advisors until his death. They are much harder to convince.

"Mordred has offered us a truce, even an alliance if we want it. I have decided to accept both offers."

"This _boy_ has you eating out of his hand, sire! He has you bewitched!"

Mordred is impassive, and Arthur rises from his seat, preparing to issue the very direst of warnings, but it's Morgana who cuts in.

"No, Agravaine. He doesn't."

"And what would you know of that, _my lady_?"

"If you had waited to hear the terms of the truce, you would know _exactly_ how much I know of that." Her smile is cold. "I _know_ that Arthur is not bewitched, because I know the name of the warlock who laid the spell of protection on his signet ring."

The council goes very, very still. Mordred's light, gentle voice is clearly audible.

"The Lady Morgana is correct. I have no spell capable of touching a hair on your king's head." Agravaine bears a marked resemblance to a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing softly. "To anyone capable of sensing magic, he is wrapped in a protection of incredible power."

"Does the warning come across?" Morgana asks with professional interest, enjoying the looks of shock.

"Oh yes," Mordred chuckles, "Merlin made it very clear. It says _he is defended_. _Touch him, and your life is forfeit._"

"Really?" Arthur says. "He… errmmm… didn't mention that part."

"I did something similar on the charms for Gwen and the baby," Morgana adds. "The spell itself is less powerful, but the threats are rather more…" She smirks. "...explicit, shall we say?"

"_Lay a hand on my godson and you will learn the true meaning of pain_," Mordred quotes.

The council is still staring as though hypnotized.

"To any magic user, it is very, very clear that there are two exceptionally powerful sorcerers in Camelot. I would guess that you've had a significant decrease in magical attacks in the last few years? I thought so. This city and its royal family are wrapped in a hedge of love and protection strong enough to hold out a dragon." There's a long moment of silence. Arthur breaks it.

"Are there any further protests, gentlemen?" There's no response, positive or negative. The council sits as if stunned. "In that case, let's discuss the provisos of the treaty."

O

Mordred is needed at Camelot, preparing the formal treaty and meeting with Arthur's council. It's Merlin who rides to Ealdor and fetches Hunith, Merlin who refuses to tell her why she's wanted at Court.

"You'll see," he says, grinning.

If she fails to stifle a gasp at the sight of Mordred crowned, seated alongside the High King, only the stuffy court ladies really mind.

After the treaty is formally concluded, both Merlin and Mordred hurry to her side. They stand shoulder to shoulder, looking down at her. Merlin has mischief and pride in his eyes. _Were you surprised, Mother_?

Mordred is solemn. _Did I do well?_

She laughs, but there's a sob in her voice.

"My boys!" She reaches up, standing on tiptoes to pull the two dark heads down to her level. "Oh, I've missed you both." She steps back and looks from one to the other, smiling through the tears in her eyes.

"I'm so proud of you. My sons."

And then the people cluster around them, and Arthur is shouting for Merlin, and Morgana hugs Mordred, and the Queen hands him the baby prince and tries to hide a smile at the look on his face. Hunith slips into the background, watching the happy crowd, seeing the joy on Merlin's face and the quiet satisfaction on Mordred's. The formal announcement will be made tomorrow, but this is the beginning of the new world.

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><p><strong>Updates will get considerably sparser from here on out. I've posted something every day since New Year's Day, and it's been a rewarding but <em>exhausting<em> month. I'll be back, but it may take a little while.**

**What say you? Is it well put together? Do the voices ring true? Is it believable? If you can explain the slight, nagging feeling that something about this chapter is off, I'll be very grateful.**


	5. You Always Brought Me Flowers

**HiddenFilly and Gemmaaa wanted this one. Cajast beta'd it with heroic skill. Thanks, y'all!**

**So: Three 100-word drabbles, three universes. Lots of parallels!**

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><p><em><strong>Do you know, Merlin, that in many of those worlds we were wed? Despite everything, it happened over and over again. We saved the world side by side, or we held each other when we could not stop its burning, or we destroyed it hand in hand because I made you love me more than Arthur. You were a good husband, tender and true, and, no matter what happened, you always brought me flowers.<strong>_

O

He brings me flowers the night before the battle, returning to our tent after moonrise.

"For luck."

"You should be resting. You'll need your strength."

He shrugs, grinning, and I relent.

"Thank you, my love."

"Always."

"Maybe _not_ always. What if something happens?" He wraps his arms around me, comforting.

"We'll be fine, Morgana. I promise." He grins. "If you and I are together, we can do anything."

"We've managed so far," I admit.

"And will again." He bends to kiss me. "One more battle to make Albion safe. For Arthur."

"For our children."

"Someday."

"Soon. Come to bed, Merlin."

O

He brings me flowers the night before the battle, finding me as darkness falls.

"I brought you these." _ One last time_.

Nothing green remains inside the walls.

"You shouldn't waste your magic."

"It won't make a difference." _We're doomed_._ Arthur is dead. They're coming._ I cling to him. He kisses me gently, stroking my hair.

"If you had listened to the Dragon, lied to me…" _Maybe destiny would have gone as he promised you. _He shakes his head.

"Tonight is all we have, Morgana. Don't waste it on regrets."

We hold each other, there in the silence before the end.

O

He brings me flowers the night before the battle, leaning on a tree outside my command tent, a lazy smirk in his eyes.

"Merlin."

"My Queen."

"Did you want something?"

"I brought you these." He proffers a handful of pink blossoms. "They made me think of you." He's watching me. It's a challenge.

"Of _me_, Merlin? They're _pink_." He grins, mocking.

"They're aconite, my lady."

"Aconite."

His smile widens. He steps closer.

"Beautiful…" Closer still. "…rare…" His eyes are hungry. He whispers the last words against my lips. "…and _poisonous."_

Tomorrow, we burn down Camelot. Tonight, there's time for flowers.

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><p><strong>Somehow, not being on a fic-a-day challenge actually makes it <em>easier<em> to write. Weird. I'm sure there will be more along shortly. **

**If you have a request, please ask for a _specific_ vision from the original oneshot.**

**What say you? Which was your favorite/most interesting? Drop me a line and let me know what you thought. :D**


	6. The Queen's Shadow

**EmotionalPoemGirl and WeregoddessX wanted to see this one. Cajast beta'd it and made many helpful comments; beaucoup thanks, my dear. :)**

**I should also credit C. S. Lewis's fantastic novel _'Till We Have Faces_ for partially inspiring Merlin and Morgana's relationship in this fic. If you've read it, you may spot some parallels.**

**Nine 100-word drabbles.**

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><p><em><strong>There's a world where Arthur died in a tilting accident before you ever reached Camelot, and you became my advisor instead. You kept me sane with kind eyes and honest counsel, and you were the truest servant a monarch could wish for. They called you "the Queen's Shadow." In that dream, you poured your entire life into my service. I think you loved me, but you never let me see it.<strong>_

O

Merlin is a new servant. I listen for his knock at my door each night; Gaius is sending him with stronger and stronger potions, trying to ease me to sleep.

"You must have really loved Prince Arthur," he says once, looking in a kind of awe at the shadows under my eyes. He's heard the rumors that we were sweethearts.

"He was an idiot," I say, tongue loosened by the potion. I'll hate myself for it in the morning. "But now I'd do anything to quarrel with him again."

Merlin is blue eyes full of predictable pity and unexpected understanding.

O

Merlin is the shadow at the corner of my room, moving furniture or whispering with Gwen.

Merlin is the first one to reach my room when I awaken screaming, the one who puts out the fire in some fashion I can't quite see.

"What happened, milady?" he asks.

"Nothing, Merlin. The window broke, and the draft blew the candle into the curtains."

He looks straight into me, and, in the moment before the guards arrive, he bends to whisper in my ear.

"You don't have to lie to me, Morgana."

Merlin is blue eyes with a secret in their depths.

O

Merlin is the only one I can trust. He keeps my secret even closer than he keeps his own. He's the one who peels away the deceit and tells me the truth.

He takes me to meet the dragon, and tells me I have a destiny.

"You will be queen, milady," he says, "You will heal Albion."

The dragon calls us two sides of the same coin, and it ought to be funny or uncomfortable or unbelievable. It isn't.

Merlin calls me "my queen" when no one can hear. We wait together.

Merlin is blue eyes promising me utter loyalty.

O

Merlin is the one who comes to tell me that Uther Pendragon is dying.

"Gaius called it an apoplexy," he says softly. He pauses. "He's asking for you."

It isn't surprising; Uther hasn't been the same since Arthur died. He fights the darkness just long enough to tell me the truth of my birth, and then he follows his son.

Merlin and Gwen handle the arrangements for my coronation, and everyone is scandalized. I don't care.

I don't mourn my father, but I don't celebrate, either.

Merlin is blue eyes catching mine as Geoffrey sets the crown on my head.

O

Merlin is my chief advisor, the one who isn't afraid to tell me the truth.

"Don't rush into it, my Queen. There's been enough bloodshed already."

"I'm not sure she's trustworthy, even if she is a friend of magic."

"If he has skill like that, then forget about tradition and let him be a knight. Besides, anyone can see that Gwen wants him to stay."

"You don't have to hate them just because they hate magic."

"This is it, milady. It's time to tell them all the truth."

Merlin is blue eyes holding steady enough to hold me steady, too.

O

Merlin is the truest servant a sovereign could ever want. He's the one who saves my life a dozen times in my first five years as queen. He's the one who always sees the best in me, whose trust in me makes me work even harder to deserve it.

He's the one whose formal tone sometimes slips when he's calling me out, or when his smile is sparkling with mirth that's just for me.

He's the one who sees the queen and the woman as the same person.

Merlin is blue eyes full of love and trying to hide it.

O

Merlin is the one who stays at my side. He's the one who never tires of serving me, never flinches from my battles, never spares any effort he can make to ease my burdens.

Gwen tries to get him to rest, to come and stay with her and Lance and the children. She fails.

He's the one who teases me away from my desk and then does my work himself.

"Albion needs you healthy," he says.

"_I_ need _you_ healthy," I tell him, and he listens… for a while.

Merlin is blue eyes trying to stay open ten minutes more.

O

Merlin is an old friend. I listen for his knock at my door each morning; he never fails to wake me with a smile. He's the one who built this kingdom beside me. Albion is our child, born of our mingled minds. She is the only child either of us will ever bear.

"Isn't she beautiful?" he asks one night, as we stand on the roof looking out.

"Yes." We listen to the night birds for a while. "Thank you for giving her to me."

"Thank you for letting me help."

Merlin is blue eyes looking out in utter satisfaction.

O

Merlin is the last thing I ever see. He is the one who holds my hand for the first time as the world dims. He is the one who eases my pain with every ounce of physician's skill he has and sits by my bedside as the people I love say goodbye.

He is the one they leave with me when they know that I am nearly gone, because they see what I never admitted.

"Sleep well, my Queen," he says, "I'm with you."

"Of course." I smile. "Where else would you be?"

Merlin is blue eyes filling with tears.

* * *

><p><strong>The next update is already written and will most likely be posted tomorrow. If you enjoyed, let me know. If you have a critique, <em>please<em> let me know. :)**


	7. I Pulled You In

**WARNING: DARKNESS. There's nothing really explicit, but please read with caution. ****Three one-hundred-word drabbles, three universes, you know the drill. Thanks to Cajast as always for beta'ing. :D**

**Yalic123 had expressed interest in the third one, but I found that they wanted to be a set, so I wrote all three.**

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><p><em><strong>There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, stole your innocence, and vanished from Camelot without a trace. In that world, I raised our daughter as a weapon and you were forced to destroy us both. When it was over, you went to the Isle of the Blessed and walked beyond the veil, leaving the world of the living behind. <strong>_

_**There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, took you to bed, and slit your throat as you lay sated beside me. I bore our daughter in exile and raised her as an enemy of Camelot. They had no sorcerer to stand against her magic and her hatred. **_

_**There's a dream where I pulled you into my chambers, and you held me like your wildest dream had come true. Your touch was so artless and sincere that I couldn't bear to betray you. I wavered between light and dark, love and hatred, for years. In the end, I let you heal me.**_

O

I left you asleep, soft and warm and bare, with the moonlight falling across your chest.

You slept very soundly for a man with his secrets and his lies and his magic still locked away.

You'd poisoned me sooner than tell me the truth, but you came to my bed with a little persuasion.

"I'm so sorry," I'd whispered. "Please forgive me." Only six words, but powerful enough to choke out your reservations.

I left you dreaming, slipping away by moonlight.

I left you asleep, unaware of the weapon that I had stolen, of the possibility warm in my womb.

O

I left you dead, blood pooling on your chest, as black as your lies in the moonlight.

You only had a moment to realize what I'd done, but I relished the look in your eyes. I knew how it felt to look up and meet treachery from one you'd trusted.

They'd find you, cold, in my bed, and realize I was missing. They might guess the truth, but I doubted it.

I left you dead, slipping away into the darkness. I didn't know then that you'd left a parting gift in my body, one with the power to break Camelot.

O

I meant to leave you. I did. I meant to slip away before dawn, let you wake with empty arms and realize what I'd done.

I meant to enjoy deceiving you. I meant to exult in your gullibility.

I meant to hide my hatred as you were hiding your magic, answer your deceit with my own.

I wasn't prepared for honesty. You kept your magic secret, but you came to me with wonder in your eyes and held me like your future made flesh.

I meant to leave you. Sunrise found me wrapped in your sleeping arms, wakeful and perplexed.


	8. The First Sorcerer King

**Dragon Mistress Syal, Yalic123, and WeregoddessX all expressed interest in seeing this one. In fact, they expressed it well over a month ago. Sorry 'bout the delay, and I hope you're still watching. :)**

**Thanks as always to Cajast, who cleans up my punctuation and points out my issues. You're awesome. :D**

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><p><strong>There's a world where Gwen was barren and our son, the king's nephew, took the throne as the first sorcerer-king of Camelot. Handsome, dark-haired Arthur was named for his uncle, and he became a mighty ruler, king and dragonlord and warrior. He was born with your heart and my cunning, your magic and my visions, and he had his namesake's leadership and skill with a blade. In his empire, the golden dragon was a proud ally, not a conquered foe.<strong>

**O**

Our son was born at midwinter, and I always thought, secretly, that there was magic involved, that a little bit of that starry night had slipped into his soul. You always laughed at me and said that any child of ours couldn't exactly have been normal. I suppose it's true. Our son is not simply a Pendragon; he is also heir to the power of a dragonlord and the magic of two unusually strong sorcerers. He could never have been ordinary.

Still, there is something in him that reminds me of the midwinter sky, rich and clear and magnificent. Laugh if you want, Merlin; many a mother grows sentimental in her old age, but few have a son like ours.

We named him 'Arthur', of course. I pretended to object when you suggested it, but, really, it was the only name we considered. The Great Dragon came to his christening and watched with wide golden eyes.

"This one has a destiny of his own, young warlock," he said afterwards. "I will say no more. You have already changed the course of fate too many times for me to presume to guess where this will end." I can still see the way you grinned at him, settling little Arthur more comfortably against your shoulder. You caught my hand as we returned to the castle and whispered:

"And _that_ is as close as the great beast will ever get to admitting that I was right about you." We laughed together, and you kissed me for the sheer joy of it, because we were young and had conquered fate. Do you remember?

We found that we that couldn't both travel in Arthur's service anymore. I never told you how much I missed our journeys together, questing after some forgotten artifact or solving some magical dispute. Still, our baby was worth it, even if one of us needed to be by him at all times to prevent him from conjuring manticores in his sleep.

Arthur didn't complain. He and Gwen had been wed for years by then, with no sign of a child, despite their hopes. They knew—we all knew— that our son might be as close as they ever came to a little one of their own. He eased the ache a bit, I think. Gwen sang little Arthur to sleep many a night, crooning songs from her childhood. My brother held his namesake, and I couldn't find it in me to tease him for the wonder in his eyes. Even then, we all realized that he might one day take the throne.

He was a stubborn little boy.

"How was the battle, Morgana?" Arthur would inquire with awful, gloating sympathy as I returned from yet another struggle to persuade your son to bathe. "Difficult, I imagine. The lad fights like a Pendragon!"

"So does _she_!" you would interrupt, in mock irritation. "He didn't get the stubbornness from _me_!"

"Yes, because you're such a sweet, biddable lamb," I would retort. You ignored me.

"So _many_ Pendragons…" you would moan to Gwen, rolling your eyes at her in commiseration.

"One wonders why we married them at all…" Gwen would say sadly, and then lose her straight face and break down into apologetic giggles at Arthur's expression.

My baby grew into a little boy _too_ quickly, shooting up like a reed. He was never coltish or gangly, despite being your child. Gaius said that the king had been much the same; always solid, always apparently made of something a bit tougher than normal flesh. I was afraid you'd mind, but I should have known you better than that. You just looked at me in puzzlement.

"Should I mind?"

"He's built more like his royal prat of an uncle than he is like _you_."

You laughed.

"And he has your smile and my eyes. Besides, no one will ever pick on _him_ for being a beanpole."

I laughed too, and shook my head at you. You never let me be too serious for too long.

"I'm not sure that they would anyway, Merlin. He _is_ the High King's nephew."

"I suppose you're right. Anyway, I still don't care."

From the time he could walk, Arthur loved to sit on the king's knee when his namesake heard petitions, listening solemnly even before he understood what was happening. They made a pretty picture: the two Arthurs, one dark and one blond, one a child and the other a king, with the same unbearably serious look on their faces. Arthur had a chair made when his nephew grew too large, wanting him to sit beside the throne where he could watch the work of a king.

It was Arthur who gave him his first sword, too, and taught him how to use it. You always rolled your eyes at the pair of them, the way they could talk for hours about parries and strokes.

It was Gwen who taught him music, found him a harp and taught him ballads. Do you remember? You teased me that I'd clearly played you false with a travelling singer, since neither of us had a voice to speak of. You enjoyed your little joke so much that you were almost disappointed when Gaius gave us a better explanation.

"Uther had a fine singing voice when we were young," he told us softly, blind old eyes even more distant than usual. "I never heard it again after Ygraine died, but I'd know it anywhere. The lad takes after his grandsire."

We'd sit around the fire on the nights when we were all in Camelot. You and I would curl into one large chair, poring over a book of spells or talking. You'd absent-mindedly wind one hand into my hair, then try to turn pages one-handed and nearly tip the book onto the floor, just chuckling at Arthur's derisive comments. Arthur most often had some sort of treaty or paperwork to look over, but we all knew that he really preferred the histories of ancient battles and kings. Gwen would sit in a low chair by the fire, little Arthur on the rug at her feet, and they would sing to us, warm alto and soft treble together. He liked both the ballads about sorcerers _and_ the tales of knights, and neither you nor Arthur could ever get him to say which was his favorite, however hard you tried.

Eventually, he would fall asleep with his head on Gwen's knees, and she'd stroke his dark hair while we talked far into the night.

His dreams were less of a burden than mine. He was born after peace had come to Albion, and there were fewer of the shadows that had haunted me. Besides, he knew from the time he was old enough to understand what his dreams were and what they meant. Still, there were times when he crept into our chambers in the middle of the night, seeking comfort and protection. Often, I'd just awakened from the same dream, and we would fall back asleep together, side by side, with your arms around us both.

Magic was your responsibility. You always made a more patient teacher than I did. Anyway, it was never a burden on him as it was on you; magic was no longer a secret or a danger in Arthur's Albion.

I still say that four years old was too young to fly dragonback. It's a miracle that he came back alive. I understood why he needed to start learning magic young, but taking my child a mile above the ground always struck me as a bit _unwise_. 'Lunacy' was the word I used when I found out, if I recall correctly. You shouldn't have laughed. It would have gone better for you if you hadn't.

I understand that you wanted to make him laugh, of course. That was always your goal. You loved to tease even a smile out of him, just because we saw them so rarely.

Really, Merlin, it's no surprise he turned out serious. He had four parents pouring their knowledge and their responsibilities into him. We all tried so hard to give him the best of ourselves, to teach him better than we'd been taught. He absorbed more of it than any ordinary child could have managed; I think he realized even then how much responsibility he was going to bear. Still, it made him solemn. You and Arthur used to tease him, trying to get him to banter with you, but he never seemed to understand the appeal. Nothing _you_ could do could shake him into having fun.

No, that took a different sort of love.

Do you remember the day they met? Of course you do. We knew the minute their eyes locked what had happened and what was going to happen. You slipped an arm around my waist, an excuse to lean close and whisper, "Did you see what I saw…?" I rolled my eyes, trying to look like I didn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.

"They're only sixteen." But I looked for a long moment, forcing myself to see the young man and not my baby, and I had to agree. "But you're right. They're too young, and they've just met each other, and it's absolutely _idiotic_ of them… but you're right."

The king still hadn't noticed, but I could see the warm, secret smile on Gwen's face and I knew that she'd seen it, too: Branwen of Gawant was looking at our son as if all of a sudden she'd found something she'd lost, and Arthur was looking back as though the springtime sun had just come out after a long, cold winter.

"Trust Arthur to make a love match which is also a perfect political alliance," you whispered, rolling your eyes. "Where _did _he get that? Neither you nor I is so… law-abiding."

"_Surely_ it's too early to talk about alliances and _love matches_?" I whispered back, just a trifle desperately because this _was_ my only child we were discussing. You glanced back and forth between them again.

"Erm… No. Don't think so."

You were right, of course. Elena's daughter was as blunt and uninhibited and good-hearted as her mother, with the added complication of being an incurable romantic. Arthur seemed to light up around her. She taught him how to be young, and, in return, he was her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from apple trees and overturned boats and the stallion in the pasture. They were married on the morning of her eighteenth birthday, two weeks after Arthur was officially declared the heir.

I didn't cry at the wedding. No matter how often you say it, I _didn't_ cry.

_You_ cried more than _I_ did when they showed us our granddaughter. That doesn't count, Merlin. Stop teasing me. How can you tease me when you aren't even here?

It's so easy to forget that you aren't.

I miss you, Merlin. I wish you could have seen Arthur take the throne. You would have been so proud of the way he handled himself, king at 30 years old, decades before anyone expected it. I _wish_ you could have seen the way he's cared for Albion.

I _know_ you said 'no regrets'. I_ know_. Do you dare doubt that that moment is the last thing I see each night? I see it clear as day every time I close my eyes: my brother Arthur in his golden armor, you a half-step behind his shoulder, the way you two always fought. I see how Arthur pressed his wedding ring to his lips in private tenderness, unaware that I was watching, that Gwen would know he'd thought of her at the last. _You_ knew. I was sleeping a hundred leagues away, but you looked straight into my eyes and I saw your lips move. I _still_ see the shape of the words.

_No regrets, Morgana_.

For you and me, who took destiny in our hands and remade our futures, whose paths could have gone so very differently, no more words than those were necessary. They meant _I wouldn't change a thing. _They meant _I love you_ and _I couldn't have chosen a better death_ and _I'm so, so glad I trusted you _and _Albion is in good hands_ and _Be strong, my love._

I saw no more.

Our son's dream focused on the battle, on the blow you two struck, the defeat of one last threat to Albion. He was the one who told me of the very last moment before the fight began, how Arthur was grim until you elbowed him in the ribs, how you grinned at him, teasing, like you were boys of nineteen and twenty again. He was the one who smiled through his tears and told me how his uncle the king threw his gray head back and laughed as he charged to meet his fate.

"He was a great king," he said softly. "A great man. They were both great men. I saw them fight, and they were like something out of a legend."

I smiled as strongly as I could manage.

"They would have loved that," I said. "Your uncle especially. Your father would have laughed, I suppose."

"I'll never be able to care for Albion as well as they did," he said solemnly. "They were something different. I'm just a man, but they were a legend."

"They were just men. Great men, but I knew them better than anyone, and they were only human. They did what they had to do, just as you'll do what you must."

"I'll do my best," he said, and suddenly I could see both of them in him. Both of them, my brother and my husband, could look at an insurmountable obstacle, consider their duty to what they loved, and then make the impossible possible by sheer force of will. It made them a terrifying combination.

"You will," I told him. "They had faith in you. Your uncle used to say what a comfort it was to know that, if anything ever happened to him, Albion would be in good hands. Your father was so proud of you."

I saw something settle behind his eyes.

"Get some rest before the coronation. You'll need your strength." I kissed his forehead and shooed him away.

The next day, when Gwen (wan, but upright) set her husband's crown on another Arthur's head, and the Great Dragon trumpeted his allegiance to the sky, and all Albion dried its tears, I knew that the kingdom would be well. Our son Arthur was Pendragon and dragonlord, sorcerer-king and servant-ruler, and we had given him the very best of ourselves. He would care for Albion with everything in him, and raise his children to do the same. He would make us all proud.

He did.

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><p><strong>The next update is mostly written and will probably be along within a week or two. Thanks so much for all the support and kind words!<strong>

**What say you? What do you think of Arthur the Second?**


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